


Bellarke Drabbles

by clarkegriffvn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5035249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkegriffvn/pseuds/clarkegriffvn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short bellarke stories to promote the <a href="http://clarkegriffvn.tumblr.com/post/131509259836/clarkegriffvn-do-you-think-of-bellarke-fic">Bellarke Writers Network</a> over on tumblr, which is looking for members!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke stayed at Camp Jaha after the finale, and started an off and on relationship with Bellamy to move on from the mountain, but it hasn’t worked. Now she’s leaving, and Bellamy has a sudden realization that shakes him to his core.
> 
> \+ sassmasterhowell asked: “bellarke and ‘let me help you! please, just let me in’ because i will cry and i could see it being very sad and angsty, i need some tissues already”
> 
> prepare ur tissues folks (written while listening to halsey’s i walk the line and passenger’s let her go)

He’s crying.

It’s the first coherent thought Bellamy’s had since he stumbled into his tent. His arms are wrapped tight around his middle, nails digging red crescent moons into the flesh of his palms. As soon as he processes the wetness blurring his vision, his chest heaves, and his world seems to crash to the ground all over again.

Bellamy doesn’t remember the first tear falling, but now they’re coming down all at once, the droplets soaking his cheeks and rolling off his chin. He can’t even remember the last time he’s cried. He was dry-eyed after his mother was floated and Octavia taken, as if ripping them away had left him unable to process emotion. But things are different on Earth. He’s changed.

His chest closes up, choking his breaths until they come short and gasping. He squeezes his eyes shut, angry at himself for all the little pained noises he’s letting escape. He uncurls his fists, readjusting himself on the small cot to shove his face into his pillow.

He’s in love with Clarke.

Bellamy rolls onto his side and fists his hands in the rags and furs that cover the bedframe. His mind replays flashes of blonde hair and quiet gasps, his hands gripping these same sheets, but with another emotion entirely. But the memories turn bitter at his touch, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

God, he can’t believe he let this happen.

He knew that it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was just therapy sex. Catharsis. He was being used, and willingly at that. God, he was so damn willing. Why didn’t he see it coming?

_You did,_ a part of him whispers. _You just didn’t care._

He steadies his breathing at that, running a hand through his hair and tugging a little on it so the pain brings him back to his senses. He blinks away some of the wetness, eyes fixed to the grey tent wall closest to him, but unseeing. Instead her face dances in his vision, her broken expression as she explains “ _I’m leaving camp, Bellamy. Right now. And… I don’t know when I’m coming back. If I’m coming back._ ” And when he had tried to reason with her, when he had pleaded with her to “ _Come back inside, Clarke please. Please Clarke, I…_ ” she shook her head, cutting him off. “ _I bear it so they don’t have to._ ”

And he let her go. Walked like a ghost back through camp, subject only to pitying looks from friends and strangers.

They all knew.

Bellamy breathes out in little, wavering puffs, face twisted up in emotion. He rolls onto his back, letting his limbs unfurl. He feels like a coward, lying there alone.

_I love her. I love her. I love her._

It repeats like a mantra, the truth of each word tearing up his lungs. He feels like screaming, lying there, doing nothing. He blinks, and suddenly there’s adrenaline surging through his system.

“Clarke,” his hoarse voice whispers into the stale air of his tent, mind absent. He swings his legs over the side of his cot, hands grabbing along the floor for wherever he tossed down his jacket. He can’t find it, the dim light of the early fall sunset not enough to see around. He soon gives up, jolting to his feet and pushing out of his tent.

_I can catch up to her,_ he thinks, more clearheaded than he’s been in weeks. _It hasn’t been long. I need to tell her._

Bellamy weaves between tents, jogging at first, then running. He doesn’t care to be inconspicuous, he only wants to get to her. To let her know.

His arms pump and his eyes sting a little as the sunset catches him in the face, but the gates are finally in sight. He holds a hand up to shade his vision, thanking God when he sees Miller on guard.

“Miller!” he yells as he runs toward his friend. “Open the gate!”

“Bellamy, what the hell?” Miller says, even as he rushes to do as Bellamy ordered. Bellamy slows a little as he runs past Miller and through the gates, realizing how crazy he must look. He doesn’t care.

“I’m going to tell her!” Bellamy yells over his shoulder, face breaking into a grin. “She has to know!”

“Bellamy!” Miller yells again, sounding urgent. Bellamy turns to see Miller with his hands cupped to his mouth. “West woods! She’s in the west woods!”

Bellamy grins again, then waves his thanks. Miller waves back. He turns west, head ducked and cold air washing over him like a sigh of relief.

He’s going to tell her.

***

The sun has long since dipped down to kiss the horizon, and now it’s pulling its last touches of light from the sky. His breathing is ragged and he’s freezing cold, but with a million stars lighting his path, he’s never felt more alive.

The glow of a campfire between the trees flickers into his vision, and his face breaks into a grin, he speeds up, ducking around trees to follow it.

“Clarke?” he calls out into the woods, before turning the corner. She looks up, face startled in  the firelight, sitting on a log with her knees pulled to her chest.

“Bellamy?” she starts, hands moving to her sides to steady her. “I told you–”

“I know what you told me,” he interrupts, catching his breath in heaves. “I know. ‘Stay away from me, let me go.’ But I can’t let go, Clarke. I won’t. I’m not letting you do this. Not alone,” he pleads, stepping closer.

Clarke leans back on her hands, away from him.

“I have to, Bellamy,” she answers, shaking her head. “I can’t let anyone take the blame for what I did.”

“What _we_ did,” he corrects, brows furrowed, trying to catch her eye. Her fists curl, and he can tell the words grate her nerves.

“You can’t keep saying that, Bellamy!” she shouts, but there’s something behind her voice wavering.

“Yes, I can!” he shoots back, just as heated. Clarke’s biting her lip so hard he can see it going white in the firelight. He softens. “Look, Clarke, listen to me. I… I _know_ you.”

Clarke laughs, shaky voice bitter and heartbreaking.

“No you don’t,” she says, lip curled. “I used you, Bellamy, don’t you see that? You don’t know me.”

“Fine then, go ahead, Clarke,” he dares, becoming bolder. “Tell me how I feel. Tell me it was all a mistake. Tell me that I never meant to fall in love with you.”

Clarke’s mouth opens to answer, but she freezes as his words hit her.

“You… you what?” she asks, finally looking up at him.

“I love you,” he says, holding her eyes with every ounce of confidence he can muster. The admission rushes out like a sigh, and Bellamy can feel himself becoming lighter with each syllable.

Clarke blinks a few times, as if she’s having trouble translating his foreign words. Then she exhales, running a hand through her hair, as if she wants to tear it out.

“Bellamy,” she murmurs, then trails off. She looks away from him, pinching her lips as she casts her gaze into the coals of her fire.

“Clarke,” he whispers, trying again. “Let me help you. Please, just let me in.”

She sucks in a breath, audible over the crackle of the fire and the creak of the woods.

“Bellamy, I don’t know if I…” her voice cracks, and she looks down to her lap, unable to finish. Bellamy breaks into a small, watery smile, moving closer to her. She shifts over on her log, and that’s all the sign Bellamy needs. He sits down next to her, wrapping his arms tight around her. She hesitates for a second, then grips onto him like a lifeline, her face buried in his neck. Bellamy feels her nails dig into the skin of his bare arms, but he doesn't mind. He smooths his hand down her hair to her back, palm relishing in the feeling of having her within his reach.

“That’s okay," he soothes, the words just as much for him than they are for her. "It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay."

He rubs her back in slow circles, which seems to help as her breathing steadies.

“You’re cold,” she murmurs, pulling away from him.

He chuckles a little, pulling his arms away from around her. He holds them in front of his lap, curling his fingers in and out to work a little warmth in them. He looks up into Clarke’s eyes to say something, but she’s looking down at his hands, eyes fixed. Bellamy’s breath catches at the sight of her soft features, then looks down to where her hand hovers over his, caught in time with indecision.

“It’s okay,” he whispers again, and Clarke’s hand settles over his. Somehow, after so many weeks, it feels like the most intimate thing they’ve ever done.

When she looks up at him, and he thinks he sees a little bit of hope in her watery smile.

Bellamy has never seen anything more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed, or would like more drabbles to be added to this collection. Send me fic prompts on tumblr at [clarkegriffvn](http://clarkegriffvn.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellarke + Your Touch by The Black Keys  
>  _  
> I’m crazy for  
>  Your touch   
> And I’ll be good  
> Like I should  
> Waitin’ is such misery  
> I need your touch_

>  

“Oh my God, have I taught them nothing?” Bellamy muttered, white-knuckling his third red pen of the hour.

He bit hard on his lip, trying to resist circling the entire paper and putting a huge X through it. As much as he encouraged reading between the lines in class, he was pretty sure that concluding an essay with “So Achilles and Patroclus were totally gay for each other” was  _not_ what he meant. 

“No, no, no,” Bellamy continued, punctuating his words with harsh scrawls of his pen. “No. No– Shit!”

With that Bellamy scrambled save the pile of marked and unmarked essays from the growing coffee spill dominating his desk. He tossed the papers onto the filing cabinet and grabbed a handful of paper towels from the shelf behind him, tossing them onto the mess. He picked up his  _#1 Brother_ mug and stood, getting to work mopping up the spill.

At least there was no one at school to see his embarrassing struggle. He glanced again at the clock: 8:30pm. He had promised Clarke to try and be home for a late dinner, but that plan was clearly a failure. Hopefully she had left him some leftovers in the fridge that he could have before passing out.

Bellamy rubbed at his eyes and flopped back down in his seat. He fumbled for his phone, just checking his messages. 

To: Clarke | 7:48pm

_not making it home, too much work. sorry babe xx_

From: Clarke | 8:01pm 

_that’s okay, I’ll just eat all this pad thai myself_

_and here i was thinking that we could enjoy the new underwear i bought_

_guess I’ll just have to enjoy it alone_

That got Bellamy’s attention. He’d put his phone aside to focus on grading, and boy did he regret it. Now his eyes flicked between the coffee spill, the mass of papers, and his phone. It was a whole ten seconds before he sprung to his feet and started gathering his stuff. He rushed out the door, leaving the coffee mess and unreadable papers behind. 

Minutes later he was slamming open their front door and dumping his bag in the hall, walking to the kitchen in confident strides. Clarke was sitting on the kitchen table in soft pyjamas, feet swinging and bowl of take out in her lap. She looked up radiantly when she saw him.

“Hey! I thought you were working la–”

He cut her words off with his mouth, cradling her jaw as they kissed. Bellamy stopped thinking the moment he touched her. He simply felt, felt and sensed and loved. Clarke smelled like vanilla and old paint and she tasted like spices. Clarke was home and Clarke was  _his_. 

She had pushed her bowl aside and pulled him close by the front of his shirt, recognizing the need in his eyes. He sighed into the kiss, tension fading from his body. His knit eyebrows returned to normal, shoulders lowering and back straitening as he slipped and arm around her waist.

As a smile began to pull at his lips, Clarke drew back. She grinned and pecked him on the nose.

“Rough day?” she asked, smoothing her hands up and down his front.

Bellamy groaned and put his face in the crook of her neck, hugging her tight. 

“I love you,” he sighed as he pulled back. 

Clarke opened her mouth to echo him, but he took advantage of the moment to kiss her again. This time with more intent, as he shed his jacket mid-kiss. Clarke got the message and wrapped her legs around his waist. He reacted by taking her hips and lifting her, carrying her out of the kitchen. Clarke laughed in his arms.

“I assume you got my texts, then?” she said between pecks as they entered their bedroom.

Bellamy sat her down on the bed and pulled his shirt over his head.

“I ran three red lights coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by the amazing [wullgorski](http://wullgorski.tumblr.com) who is also a bellarke writer, so go follow!
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed, or would like more drabbles to be added to this collection. Send me prompts on tumblr at [clarkegriffvn](http://clarkegriffvn.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I was skipping class to sleep in an empty class room and you caught me but the door closed behind you and now we’re trapped inside cause the lock is broken.

Bellamy did not have the fucking energy for this. Last night was the third time in a row that his boss had him working full night shift, and he was completely exhausted. He thought he could trudge through the school day on one hour of sleep and clock out the second he got home, but apparently not. No, he just  _had_  to be paired up for a project with the insufferable class genius, Clarke Griffin. Not only would she not let him sleep on the desk, but she was actually insisting that he do  _work._ Hell fucking no to that, thank you very much.

“Bellamy, I am not going to do this project for you!” Clarke fumed. Bellamy groaned and turned his face over on the desk surface, closing his arms tighter around his ears. The girl whacked him in the head with her book, startling him into a sitting position.

“What the hell?” he complained, squinting at the light. He probably looked like shit, but he really didn’t care. It took him a second to even notice that Clarke was still talking.

“—only get three work periods for this presentation and I’m not spending them mothering you, Blake.”

“Well you’ve been doing a pretty good job of it so far,” Bellamy said, ending the sentence with a drawn-out yawn.

It seemed like Clarke didn’t even have the energy to act offended, because all she did was pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation and sigh heavily. Now that Bellamy was actually looking at her, she looked almost as tired as he did. There were dark bags under her eyes and she forwent makeup that day, which was strange because she usually wore mascara and this strawberry-smelling lip gloss that— whoa, wait, since when did he care?

“You know what,” he decided, standing up and pushing his chair away. “I’m getting out of here.”

Clarke’s head snapped up as he walked away, then she too was on her feet. Bellamy glanced behind him as he exited the class, only to see her following him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever give up?”

“No,” Clarke snapped, drawing even with him. “Where are you even going? You can’t just skip class like this!”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and walked faster. “Watch me,” he spat.

Clarke huffed but didn’t stop following him, which he decided to ignore. Instead Bellamy was looking into empty classrooms, trying to find one that suited his purposes.

“What are you doing?” Clarke shouted after him as he walked into a small storage room with one of the old couches from the library in it. He tried to swing the door shut behind him, but Clarke pushed in anyways. Ignoring her still, he settled down on the dusty orange couch with sprawled limbs and closed eyes.

“Bellamy—”

“Nope,” he cut her off, opening his eyes.

Clarke was leaning over the back of the couch with her arms braced on it, hair obscuring her face. “You can’t just—”

“I can and I will, just leave me alone!” Bellamy cringed inwardly at the hurt expression on her face. Nothing he could do though, he had already said it.

“Fine. You’re useless, and I’m getting out of here.”

 _You should apologize_ , a tiny part of Bellamy said. He settled for rolling over and closing his eyes instead. He listened as Clarke stomped over to the door and grabbed the handle, jiggling it. He opened his eyes when he didn’t hear the door click open, and he sat up as he heard Clarke swear and pound on the door surface. They were locked in?

“Let me try,” Bellamy offered, hauling himself upright.

“Don’t trust me to open a door right, Blake?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, brushing off the remark and twisting the handle. The door wouldn’t budge.

“It’s no use,” he determined, shaking his head. He was about to head back to his comfy couch when Clarke started to pound on the door loudly.

“Hey! We’re locked in! Help! Help!”

Bellamy flinched and put his hands over his ears. He reached out to grab Clarke’s arm and stop her from making more noise. She breathed heavily, like a caged animal, then blinked several times before pulling her arm away.

“Sorry, I… I’m a bit claustrophobic,” she muttered, putting her hands to her temples.

Bellamy nodded in sympathetic understanding, but caught himself staring at her too long. He tore his eyes away and flopped down on the couch with a huff.

 _Maybe this stupid desire to kiss her would actually go away if he did it_ , he thought. And he might’ve actually followed through, if circumstances were different. But they weren’t, and Bellamy was exhausted, so he yawned and settled in for a nap.

Of course, Clarke chose that exact moment to stand in front of him and cough awkwardly. He cracked open a single eye to see her gesture for him to move his feet. He did it, he but the action was possibly ruined by the fact that he plopped his feet back down on top of her the moment she sat down.

“Get your feet  _off_  my lap,” Clarke commanded, poking at his shoes. Bellamy groaned and somehow turned himself around so that his head was on Clarke’s lap instead. At first she stiffened, but after a moment of settling in, he felt her hand run through his hair.

Well he definitely couldn’t sleep with her doing  _that._ Bellamy rolled over so he was face-up on her lap, looking up at her.

"You look like shit,” he remarked, saying the first thing to pop into his head.

“And I suppose that makes you a prime example of human condition?” she countered, still playing with his curls.

“Touche,” was all he could say. Why did this feel so damn intimate?

 Clarke’s head tipped back to gaze at the ceiling, her movements soft. “So what’s wrong with you?” she asked lightheartedly, though not very tactfully.

Bellamy snorted at her phrasing. He wanted to say:  _Where do I begin? I’ve got a list._ But it came out as: “Night shift. No sleep. Gotta pay the rent, y’know.”

Clarke nodded, but looked puzzled. He didn’t know why until she asked him, “Rent?”

Bellamy yawned, not wanting to talk but words spilling out anyways. “Never knew my Dad, and my Mom’s dead. I’m my sister’s legal guardian. We get checks from the relatives sometimes, and casseroles from the neighbors, but…”

“Sounds tough,” Clarke answered, voice quiet. Bellamy was pleased to not hear pity in her voice, only a comforting sort of sympathy. Respect, even.

“You?” he asked, finding that he cared for once.

“I can’t sleep. I… spend my nights at the hospital, mostly,” Clarke’s voice sounded distant and a little confused, as if she didn’t know why she was telling him anything. “My dad’s sick. Lung cancer. Won’t be long now.”

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, imagining what it must feel like to have someone ripped from you so slowly.

Clarke loosened her grip on his hair, which had accidentally tightened as she spoke about her father. “So am I,” she responded at last.

No conversation came after that, so Bellamy rolled back onto his side and closed his eyes. Suddenly he didn’t care so much about the locked door or even getting sleep, but for the girl in whose arms he felt safer, somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you liked reading, or want more bellarke drabbles! Send me prompts on tumblr at [clarkegriffvn](http://clarkegriffvn.tumblr.com) <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: arguing but secretly being kind of turned on by it is clearly the #1 Bellarke thing to do, isn't it? (or in other words... do it do it do it)

Clarke had never been one to pick fights. Sure, she was stubborn as all hell and held grudges like no one else, but arguing drained her. Debates with her father left her feeling empty, and screaming matches with her mother always turned into fits of crying and long sleeps. It was a weakness she rarely admitted to, but always won in the end.

But then she she met Bellamy Blake. The moment she hit the ground with him, everything changed. He shoved his way into her life, all aggressive posture and stinging insults. He tested her, pushed her, infuriated her. But when she argued with him, she felt  _alive_.

“Bellamy, listen to me,” she commanded, tone ice-cold. “You can’t keep taking this many people for patrol! I need Monroe and Miller to help fix the med tent.”

Bellamy’s head whipped around and his eyes narrowed at her. He had tried to leave this conversation once already, but Clarke wasn’t backing down. He gritted his teeth before he spoke.

“Sorry,  _Princess_ , but you can’t just take my two best shooters because you want to take a damn log off your crappy tent. I told you it was too close to the forest, and this is what you get. Deal with it without endangering everyone’s lives.”

“We need medical up and running, and that’s not possible unless I have enough people to lift that tree! Double someone’s shifts, or whatever, I don’t care. Just don’t get in my way.”

Bellamy scoffed and tried to move around her to exit the tent, but she didn’t budge. Instead she reached out and pushed him back firmly. Clarke’s blood was boiling. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, looking him dead in the eye. Bellamy didn’t back down, holding Clarke’s gaze as she took an aggressive step forward into his personal space to continue her rant.

“Stop being such a shithead and get this through your thick skull,” she hissed, each word laced with venom. “You walk around this camp like you’ve got everything under control, but I see right through you. Despise me all you want; we both know you’d be lost without me.”

“Oh, float you,” Bellamy says offhandedly, looking down at her.

“No, float you, Blake!” She yells back without hesitation, adrenaline rushing through her.  “You can’t just take whoever you want, whenever. You want to be in charge? Fine. But I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.”

Clarke’s words sank in, and Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat.

Bellamy Blake, son of Aurora, was never one to pick fights. Though he wanted to with all his burning heart, his responsibilities held him back. But the second he hit the ground running, everything changed. If you wanted a say on the ground, you had to argue with everything you had. And when that didn’t work, sometimes you just had to grab what (or who) you needed and do it anyways. Or at least, that was Bellamy’s approach, and for a while, it worked.

Until he met Clarke Griffin. She marched her way into his life, all fire and ice and a shock of blonde hair. Gentle hands as she killed for mercy, rough callouses as she set bones without it. Calculating eyes with every brushstroke, broken expression as she painted a cruel world. When he looked at her, he felt  _alive_.

And there she was, inches from his face, spouting insults in her most commanding tone. In that moment, something in Bellamy switched. He realized that his hatred wasn’t hatred at all.

 _We’re in this together,_ she had said. And she was right.

“Okay,” Bellamy answered. His voice was steady and calm. If there was a speck of doubt in him, he couldn’t feel it.

“Together?” Clarke asked, still unsure.

Bellamy nodded, and that was all Clarke needed. She surged forward, clashing their mouths together. Bellamy’s hands moved to cup her jaw, and it was like a puzzle piece falling into place. Clarke pressed her body into his like this was where she was meant to be at this exact moment. Like everything before this had just been leading up to it, every second, every day, every year.

After a while he pulled away, so dazed that he could barely breathe. But that was the thing; he didn’t want to breathe. Suddenly it didn’t seem as important as it once was.

Bellamy pulled Clarke in to kiss her again.


End file.
